Skeleton Key
by RealRedGold
Summary: During a working trip to Austria, Amanda and Lee have a few days to themselves in an idyllic lakeside village. But even in beautiful Hallstatt, shadows can fall...


Disclaimer: These characters belong to Warner Brothers and Shoot the Moon. The story is my own, and I wrote it only for entertainment and for the pleasure of Lee and Amanda's company in fiction. Hallstatt and the Beinhaus are real places, and the Internet contains many images of them, if you care to search. I hope that you enjoy the story!

A man and a woman stand on the pier with a few other travelers, watching as the small passenger ferry slides toward them. On this overcast day, the water looks almost black but as bright as polished onyx, reflecting the mountains that rear up abruptly from the lake shore. Evergreens enshroud the mountains, plush and opaque at the base and translucent on the shoulder where the snow and rock show through, as if a filmy shawl is slipping down and gathering in folds below. Directly across the water from the couple, the buildings of Hallstatt seem embedded in the rising land like jumbled layers of limestone chips—like natural parts of the landscape. Fog trails in the valleys, and the cool air smells like rain and pine needles.

"Oh, Lee," the woman breathes, reaching for his hand without taking her eyes from the scene. "It's hard to believe that such places exist for real. I'm so glad that we're seeing it together for the first time."

He is looking at her now rather than at the mountains, ferry, or village. "Me, too, Amanda," he says, so quietly that only she can hear, and he lets go of her hand only so he can draw her closer to him.

The ferry ride across the lake to Hallstatt lasts only ten minutes or so, and the suitcases they've brought are easily carried down the cobbled street; he has always traveled light, and she's learned the benefits of packing just what's needed over the years she's known him. It's a good thing, too, because their room is on the second story of the Bräu-Gasthof, and there's no elevator in this old inn. They make their way up the creaking, curved wooden staircase. Lee fits the skeleton key into the old-fashioned lock and the door swings open. Their room is small. Cozy. They set down the cases and immediately begin to investigate. An antique Kleiderschrank stands against one wall, the bouquet design on its doors painted with more enthusiasm than skill in the rosemaling style. There is no other place to hang their clothes. The bed is low, with a simple wooden headboard forming a gentle curve. Lee growls at the sight of the two duvets folded neatly side by side.

"Two single duvets again. Doesn't anyone in this country use full-sized blankets that cover the whole bed?"

"You'd know better than I do, Lee," she answers, "after all the times you've been to Austria." Her voice is teasing.

"Funny, I don't remember from before. It wasn't important then, I guess. Now I think about—drafts!"

Amanda bursts out laughing and he has to join her; he's never been able to resist her husky laugh. "We'll manage, I think. Oh, Lee, look at the extra blankets! They're folded into heart shapes."

He turns his attention to the two soft woolen blankets, dusty-rose colored, at the foot of the bed. "Well," he admits with mock reluctance, "I guess they make up for the twin duvets." He warms inwardly at the thought of three entire days and four nights in Hallstatt with Amanda—and no work. They have been able to tack this side-trip onto an assignment in Salzburg, and amazingly, nothing has interfered with their plans so far. He almost expects Billy to knock on their door, trying to suppress a grin, or Francine to phone them, ready with an acidic comment and an emergency assignment. "Amanda," he calls out as she bustles around the room, "if the phone rings, don't answer."

Amanda marvels at everything: the skeleton key with its wooden fob, the thickness of the walls, the casement windows that swing open onto that glorious lake view, the window box full of scarlet geraniums. They remind her of a storybook she had as a child, she says. Lee can only remember a few books from his childhood—he wasn't allowed many possessions because the Colonel moved around so much—but he likes the honey-colored pine floor with planks of varying sizes and the odd angles in the room. The inn is hundreds of years old, cobbled together from three separate buildings, all of which were intended to last. He finds any element of permanence oddly appealing these days.

They both step through the door that leads to the tiny balcony, Amanda first. The rafters under the wide eaves above their heads have been carved in scrolls, reminding Lee of the prows of Viking ships. They sink down on the tiny bench against the stucco wall, which is the color of last week's apricots. There is just enough room on the bench for the two of them; even so, their hips have to touch. "This is a great bench," Lee declares, snuggling closer. "Let's get one just like it at home."

"Will it come with this view?" Amanda asks softly. The balcony overlooks a huge chestnut tree with the inn's patio underneath it, and beyond, the lake, the mountains, the afternoon sky. Lee can just make out a traditional wooden boat on the still water, narrow as a canoe but longer, propelled by a silent trolling motor. The anglers in it look intent even at this distance. He glances at Amanda's rapt face.

"Hmm. We'll have to see about that. Give me your little hand." They sit in silence, just soaking in their love for each other.

"Are you sure you want to visit the Beinhaus, Amanda? It doesn't sound like the most pleasant place. In my experience, charnel houses usually aren't." They are walking up the rough stone steps toward Hallstatt's Catholic church, Amanda pattering lightly ahead of Lee. He appreciates how quickly she moves in her white tennis shoes, and how burnished her hair looks in the muted afternoon light. She is so full of energy that she makes Lee feel content.

"I promised Jamie and Phillip. When Jamie found out that we were visiting Hallstatt, he did a little research and learned about the Beinhaus. You know, that librarian at his school is really terrific, so dedicated to answering the kids' questions. She ordered a book about Austria through interlibrary loan for him; it came in right before I left. And once Phillip saw the pictures of this bone chapel, he started in on me, too. I feel bad that they couldn't come, so I promised them I'd visit and report back, maybe send a postcard if I could find one." Lee left for Europe a week ahead of Amanda, and he feels a little disappointed that he missed this exchange. He knows that he has a lot of catching up to do with the Phillip and Jamie; they're just starting to be somewhat at ease with each other. He pulls his thoughts back to the present.

"Okay, but don't blame me if you have nightmares." After a pause, he adds, "Feel free to wake me up if you do, though" and raises his brows suggestively. Amanda makes a little sound that's suspiciously like a snort and gives him a playful slap on the arm. Lee chuckles then adds seriously, "The next time we come to Europe, let's bring the boys and your mother—make it a real family vacation. No work at all."

"And how are we going to afford that, Stetson?"

"We'll dip into their college funds. There's no education like travel, anyway." Lee is huffing slightly now as they reach the last of the steps.

The steep stairway has led them to the graveyard of the church, which is situated on a small plateau above the narrow road. The view of the lake is, once again, fairytale-like. The clouds have broken into high, serene puffs resembling sailing ships, and the water is now pewter-colored under the cloud shadows and ice-green in the filtered sunlight. Scarves of mist still hang along the mountainsides. Lee and Amanda walk along the tidy paths between the graves, their shoes crunching on the gravel. Each grave is immaculate. Amanda bends over to inspect the inscription on one.

"Look, Lee, they all have the same things: a roof, a candle, and flowers or plants." Lee sees that she's right. Each of the graves has a tiny peaked roof built over the headstone with a candleholder or glass lantern nearby, and the plots are brightened with living flowers of all kinds. Roses and daisies are the only ones he knows, and he recognizes ivy, too, climbing up miniature arches. The crosses are carved of wood or wrought of metal, and the graves are close together and small—not long enough, it seems, for a full-sized coffin to be buried within them. All of the graves face the lake.

"Tight quarters," Lee comments as they make their way to the church. "But it's sociable this way. No one is left alone. And what a view."

Amanda takes his arm and gives him a slight smile. "I was thinking the same thing. And they have a roof over their heads, light for nighttime, and flowers to give some color. This is the most comfortable graveyard I've ever seen. Warm, almost."

They stroll over to the Beinhaus, which is in a separate chapel adjacent to the main church. A woman is posted at the entrance with laminated information sheets in different languages. Amanda asks for a sheet in English, but she chats with the woman in German. Lee feels a rush of pride. Amanda certainly doesn't need to learn German as part of her on-going Agency training; she's chosen to, and she's making good progress. Amanda catches a glimpse of his smug expression and asks, "What? Did I make a mistake?"

"Nein, Liebling; du sprichts Deutsch sehr gut." Lee is not fluent in German, but he can get along.

"Well, German is logical, and being a logical person, I like that." She cocks her head in a mannerism he finds delightful, partly because he's never seen her do it for anyone but him. They enter the bone chapel together.

Lee has heard enough about Hallstatt to know what to expect. Because space has always been so limited in the village, situated at the base of the mountain as it is, the bones in the churchyard that he and Amanda have just visited were dug up after about a dozen years in the ground, cleaned and whitened by the sun, and then stored here so that new occupants could be interred in the graves. And the bones were decorated. Still, he isn't fully prepared for what he sees as he steps into the chilly space, Amanda keeping close by his side.

The roof is low, curved, and off-white. Lee can feel his shoes scraping on the rugged stone floor, but many feet have smoothed the rough edges, so the floor is porous. The plain wooden shelves that run the width of the chapel in front of them are tiered, with the lowest shelf closest to them. The entire space from the floor to the underside of this first shelf is filled with bones—leg bones, he thinks. They are as neatly and as tightly stacked as cordwood, with the knee joints pointing outward. On the two shelves above these bones rest row after row of skulls, with candles in red glass jars flickering between them. Lee feels a prickle of sweat break out on his forehead, but he moves closer anyway, fascinated. The skulls are perfectly clean, the silvery color of driftwood except for one amber-colored one. And they have been carefully decorated. A few are bare, but most have the deceased person's name, along with his or her birth and death dates, painted in old-fashioned script over the forehead. Most of the dates are from the 1800s. Many of the skulls also wear painted garlands of flowers, ivy, or oak leaves. The overall impression is of reverence, care, and respect. This is not a gruesome sight, but it is a sobering one.

Lee hears a quick intake of breath and looks over at Amanda. Even in this dim light, he can discern her unusual pallor. Her eyes are wide, and the skin over her cheekbones looks stretched. She is standing quite still, transfixed, it seems, as she stares at the tidy, tended skulls and bones. Lee understands in a flash of intuition that she doesn't recall he's there.

"Amanda? Let's go, hunh? That's enough to satisfy the boys, I think. Amanda?" She turns to give him a helpless look, and he suddenly remembers her shocked expression when Marianna died with her head in Amanda's hands, years ago on a case in Salzburg. Amanda has that same stunned look on her face now, overcome by the sweep of death before her. Lee takes one of her small, chilled hands in both of his warm ones and leads her outside, past the lines of cheerful graves and down several steps. There he stops, experiencing a frisson of fear himself, as if her emotions have seeped from her to him through their clasped hands. He takes her in his arms, feeling her slender form leaning into him, her sweater plush under his palms, her hair soft against his cheek. He breathes in her familiar, beloved scent—light floral perfume, Dove soap, and below those, her own fragrance of fresh toast. "Are you all right?" he asks. She remains silent, but her head shakes slightly against his neck. She has slipped her arms around his waist, under his open jacket, a sure sign of consternation. "Hey," he whispers, "I'm the one who's afraid of the dark, remember?" There's no answering chuckle, only a hitch in her breathing. "What we need, Amanda, is some coffee and Austrian pastry, served on a patio by the lake. What do you think?" He tries to look down at her without pulling away, and she nods, so they set off again, Lee's arm around her slim shoulders, walking more slowly than they did when they came.

The tablecloths on the patio tables are striped peach and yellow and white, and the chestnut tree that arches overhead is hung with golden lanterns for nighttime. Lee helps Amanda into her chair at a table that's right next to the railing. Directly below, two adult swans ply the water with their cygnets, looking as if they're doing the people who are feeding them a favor by accepting their pieces of sandwich. One cygnet is riding on a parent's back between slightly upraised wings. Lee has never seen that before. It peeps for some bread, calling to be fed but not wanting to slide down from its comfortable perch. Amanda looks down at the swans and then at Lee. A little color has returned to her cheeks. The waiter approaches their table, and Lee orders a regular coffee for Amanda, a Kleiner Brauner for himself, and a single piece of apple strudel with two forks.

"I'm sorry, Lee—being such a downer, and on one of our precious days here together, too." Her voice is low and a little tremulous.

"Amanda, all our days together are precious. And you be any way you want. Any way you are. Okay?"

She nods and gives his hand on the table a squeeze. "I don't know what happened in there. I've seen dead bodies before—gosh, I've seen people die; we both have. Die violent deaths. So I don't know why that chapel affected me so. I just felt overwhelmed by all those bones. They were people once, who walked and talked and worked and ate family dinners, just like us. And now they're stacked in that chapel with wreathes of flowers painted around their heads. Except for that one with the snake—did you see that one?" She shudders slightly.

"No, I missed that one, I'm relieved to say." Lee's genuine relief comes from the fact that she's talking with him, that her forehead is crinkled with the effort of trying to explain what she experienced back there and what she's thinking now. Nothing frightens him as much as being separated from her. He reaches out to gently rotate the rings on her finger. She doesn't seem to mind his fidgety action, so he keeps playing with those rings, listening as hard as he can.

"There we were, breathing, on our feet, and there they were, reclining for all time. Everything finished for them. It just—overshadowed me for a moment." Her head droops in sorrow again. Lee guesses that she's thinking about her father, already gone, about her mother, and the boys, and—him. A man whose work is more dangerous than most people's, who's already used up more lives than he probably deserves. God, she must worry, yet she's chosen to love him, to tie her life to his. To share that work and that risk. He feels humbled by this knowledge.

The waiter brings the coffee and strudel, along with a little pitcher of cream, two glasses of water, and two slender forks. Lee watches Amanda pour a dollop of cream into her coffee and stir. But the fork he hands her goes right down on the table.

"Well," he begins, finding his way gingerly, "Remember how cheerful you thought the graveyard was? The bones of the people in the chapel have the same things that the outside folks do: a roof over their heads, some light, flowers, and company. I know it sounds too simple, but that's about all we can hope for, dead or alive. Those people had their lives." He pauses, struggling to articulate what he means. "Now is our time to be out in the sun, eating strudel, enjoying this beautiful village. The best we can do for them is to do the best we can for ourselves, I think—to appreciate what we have. And I do appreciate it, Amanda. I know that you do, too. So be sad while you need to, but then come back to me. Will you?" He feels that his words are clumsy and inadequate. He searches her face anxiously for a sign that he's reached her.

She idly picks up her fork and spears a small piece of strudel, dabbing it in the whipped cream. Her expression is still thoughtful, dark eyes slightly downcast. The breeze is picking up, tousling her hair, riffling the surface of the lake beyond them. The swans have departed for some sheltered cove, and the clouds are massing over the mountains. The waiters, used to the changeable weather of Hallstatt, are already gathering the silverware and stripping the tablecloths from the unoccupied tables around them. Amanda takes all of this in, and then the shimmering curtains that are moving toward them across the lake. The leaves of the chestnut tree are hissing. She squares her delicate shoulders, and he feels his spirits lift in tandem with hers. She gives Lee a real smile that includes her beautiful eyes and says in her creaky voice,"You're right, Schatz. You're absolutely right. We are so lucky; I can hardly believe our luck. Let's see what the evening brings us, shall we?"

Lee reaches out to her with his left hand, and with his right, he searches for the skeleton key in his jacket pocket. An image of their snug room upstairs flashes through his mind, of rain streaking against the windows and the lamp lit on the bedside table. The silver curtains have almost reached the patio; a few stray drops darken the tablecloth. He and Amanda leap from their chairs and run for the arched wooden door of the inn, laughing, ducking under the ivy that shakes over it. Their days and nights together have just begun.


End file.
